Katherine Eileen Dowling Poetry and Thoughts

  In the Wake of Loss The Reaper struck in quiet shadows, Angel of Death breathed softly, took him home, In his wake we stand, shadows in the hollow, Knowing he's no longer suffering alone. Stroke after stroke, his body stole, A storm that tore through heart and soul, Worse than winds that howl and roll, A pain we carry, a silent toll. Now we can talk, of him, of his son, Memories flicker, shadows spun, But still the living face what’s begun— Another death, another one. Hearse on the avenue, black suits in line, More tears, more pain—oh, I dread that time, To watch his pain, to hear that chime, I wish I could disappear, make it sublime. The day of the service, I choke, I sway, In that dark place, I turn away, The rainbow’s memory, a fleeting ray, In the backseat, silent, on that day. Sisters in the shadows, now deserted, cold, Listening to “I wish I cared,” so old, While brothers stand firm, brave and bold, Rocks of strength, stories untold. A...

 Two Years of Silence and Tears Two years have passed, yet still I feel The ache that time cannot heal. A day so sacred, so profound, Brings echoes of loss all around. Ashes once scattered, memories deep, In my heart, they still seep. A moment I dread, a day I fear, Reminding me you're no longer near. I thought I had more time, more days, To find the words, to change my ways. If I had known, if I had seen, The last of everything in between. Your last breath, your final fight, The fading glow of morning light. Would I have loved more, held tighter still, Prepared my heart against the chill? Today I stand with trembling hands, Fighting the shadow of my plans. Running from the pain, from what’s true, Running to forget, to hold onto you. But time moves on, relentless, strong, Yet in my soul, you still belong. Two years, a lifetime, a breath apart, But forever you’re within my heart.

  In silent grace, your face remains, “The Good Pope” preserved in marble’s hold, A body laid in peaceful chains, A story told, a life enfolded. The click of phones, a distant view, Strangers’ eyes that do not see, A prayer whispered, soft and true, To Good Pope" (John XXIII) , memory’s key. Tears fall silent, shoulders shake, Her face, her body, in repose, In marble cold, a fragile ache, A love that time and grief impose. Snow White’s figure, glass and still, Or angels’ breath that softly blew, Is this your body? Or a shell, A waxen dream we thought we knew? Perhaps in graves, in sacred ground, You rest in peace beyond our sight, While memories in hearts are bound, In faith’s embrace, in love’s pure light. I run from shadows, rain’s cold tears, A thunder’s roar, a storm’s lament, Caught between the hopes and fears, Of moments lost and time misspent. Refuge found in whispered Wi-Fi, A humble bun, a fleeting grace, Yet still I long, I wonder why— Your memory lingers in this place. ...

  Maiden Flight The fear took hold, my heart a drum, A pounding echo, silent and numb, The skyline loomed, a distant sum, And I hesitated, almost undone. Memories surfaced, childhood’s play, Kids at Manchester, running free, Ambassadors for the school’s own way, In plain clothes, just you and me. The travelators, swift and cold, A moving floor I dared not meet, A trembling step, a story told, Of fears I’d never admit or greet. Not of the plane, nor crash’s fate, But of the unknown, the great abyss, A leap of faith, a fragile state, Into the sky’s vast, endless kiss. Assisted, wheeled through crowds unseen, Past strangers’ eyes that did not care, I’d pushed you there, in every scene, Now I am in the wheelchair’s chair. Boarding the metal bird so high, A little cramp, a nervous breath, A kind voice calms the anxious cry, A gentle touch amidst the death. Engines roar, the runway’s race, And then we lift, into the blue, The Alps like sugared icing place, A breathtaking, fleeting view. ...

  Beneath Rome’s ancient, silent stones, I walk alone, my heart a stone, The air is dry, the sky unknown, And memories like shadows thrown. The birds sing softly—familiar tunes— A melody from distant rooms, A blackbird’s call, a sacred rune, A whisper of what ends too soon. Your voice, a ghost in every song, A melody I hold so long, Yet here I stand, where I belong, With pain that lingers, deep and strong. They say you’re free, no more pain, But I feel only loss and strain, A heart that aches, a soul’s refrain, In Rome’s embrace, I mourn in vain. Yesterday was my birthday’s night, A simple “thank you,” out of sight, Tomorrow marks your final fight— A love gone silent in the night. Cancer’s cruel, dementia’s thief, They steal away the soul’s relief, Endings written in disbelief— A life reduced to grief. You slipped away in gentle sleep, While I in shadows, vigil keep, My heart is yours, forever steeped, In memories I cannot keep. A child’s toy, a Vespa’s gleam, Symbols of joy, of ch...

  In Rome, I walk where ancient stones lie still, The air is dry, the scent of time’s own breath, Birds sing familiar songs on a distant hill, Their melody a balm, a whisper of death. Your voice, a memory in a blackbird’s call, A cry that echoes through my soul’s deep ache, Not here, not now—you’ve gone from it all, Yet in my heart, your presence still awakes. They say you’re at peace, no pain, no tears, But peace eludes me in this city’s grace, My loss is sharp through all these years, A shadow I can’t erase. Yesterday marked another year gone by, A simple “thank you,” a silent plea, Tomorrow’s anniversary, I cry, For the wife you loved and set free. Cancer’s cruel, dementia’s worse, They steal the voice, the wits, the light, Endings come in silent curse, Leaving shadows in the night. You slipped away with pneumonia’s breath, A gentle passing, a final rest, While I remember the last birthday, When you didn’t recognize my face, my best. Three years have passed since that quiet day,...

  The Tabernacle and the Passport Two years, three weeks, and a lifetime of cold, I sit where the hearse stood, where stories were told. The ghost of a coffin, the weight of the wood, Still lingers right here where the mourners once stood. I’m stepping toward Rome in seven days’ time, With freezing cold fingers and verses that rhyme. I look at the Box where the Sacred resides, The only thing real where the memory hides. Should I carry Him with me?  I ask of the stone,  Or are Rosary beads enough on my own?  A crutch for the journey, a light in the dark, Like the disco-light glow in a Friday night spark. I remember the "door" that the medicine threw wide, When the dead came to whisper and sit by my side. I kept it a secret—I stayed in the hull— While Dre found her voice in the wake of the lull. She spoke to the doctors, she challenged the line, While I sat in silence, with secrets like wine. But here in the stillness, beneath the church spire, I’m making my peace with...

 January is a wash of leaden skies and "Silly Season" echoes. I sit here watching the rain slide past the etched phoenix on the window, wondering if you were truly consumed by your fire, or if you found a way to be reborn in the ashes. I try not to think about it—I really can't—but the month is a graveyard of memories. We always said January was the worst. It’s proving us right. I remember a January sharp with anger. I was looking for a flat, ready to leave, and then the pneumonia took you. Suddenly, the anger evaporated. I sat by your bedside, an unwanted ghost ignoring visiting hours, coming and going to the visible annoyance of the nurses. I realized then, amidst the hum of the machines, that I simply missed you too much. The house was too quiet. It’s the same silence I live in now, only this time, you’re gone forever. I drown myself in the rain and the park, or stay inside with the melancholic beat of Nordic music. I look for the "Whales," clinging to the rh...

 **Reminders in a Suitcase** Just looking at your suitcase   Reminds me that you're not here,   Two years have passed, yet still I feel   The ache, the pain, so clear. That battered old case, its zipper sticky,   Used to hold your dreams away—   It was yours, from that first hospital trip,   When you survived each daunting day. Pneumonia clenched your lungs,   You fought with all your might,   A young mother, unaware—   You won that fight. Then, years went by, you grew strong,   But time was cruel and stole—   That illness, silent and relentless,   Took a part of your soul. It was kinder, somehow,   To go that way, than face the rest—   The storms that tried to take your heart,   Your mind, your very best. We were spared the shell of what was lost,   But now, in moving furniture,   Reclaiming what was once your hom...

 Father Time waits at the door, Old memories slipping through the back, Taking another year with you— A silent, fleeting track. Two years have passed, yet still I count, Number three, waiting for the door to open, 2026 arrives with secrets unknown, Life’s cloth unfurled, unspoken. The world spins faster than a blink, As we bid farewell to twenty-five, Regrets and tears, they need to sink, A new dawn begins to arrive. Leave here with my watch, I plead, Spin it back to twenty-one, Live again that joyful deed, When we had each other, then and gone. We danced in plans for futures bright, So unknown, yet so near, Close to you in fleeting light, Fading slowly, I fear. Time on this clock is crawling, Into the new year’s haze, You’re slipping away, softly falling, Eyes clouded with a thousand days. Return me to that clarity, To twenty-one’s embrace, Could I change our destiny, If I knew then what I face? Many ask, in silent plea, Father Time, take us back, Don’t let ripples in the sea Writ...

  The Dawn of Christmas Day By Katherine Eileen Dowling It’s Christmas Morning, and the dawn is calling, Houses once in darkness are now flooded with light. The air is thick with the yells and the calling, Of children awakened to squeals of delight. "He’s been!" they shout, bouncing on parents’ beds, While bleary-eyed Mums and Dads—who've only just laid their heads— Mumble a greeting as selection boxes are torn wide, Mouths quickly filled with the chocolate treasures inside. Little girls with cotton rags tied tight in their hair, (Wishing for curls and a bit of festive flare), Dive into pillowcases filled to the brim, With nonsense and magic, all wrapped up for him. The pets are aroused, hugged tight in the fray, Joining the children in the joy of the day. They feast on the tidbits the little ones share, As wrapping and ribbons fly through the air. Mums and Dads surrender to the morning’s wild race, Trailing behind as the children leave the pillowcase. Down the stairs the...

  The winter night begins to fall, my heart breaks now, Two years ago, this was your final home-bound vow. A sickness raged that I could never calm or cure, Your pain too great for touch, your spirit too unsure. Oh, God, if I had known those days were counted few, Before the chaos came, and I lost sight of you. You told me once, a cold house lacked your mother’s soul; Now, as the dusty mauve sunset assumes its toll, The fire is gone out, the hearth is dark and cold. My lonely grief is all the story to be told. And yet, by the small tree, I weep for all that’s gone, I hear your true voice whisper, "It looks lovely, hun." The kind voice that I loved, before the illness came, To steal your mind and soul, and only leave the pain.

 Pink Sheep She loved her grandchildren, all in her heart’s true glow, And her great-grandchildren, memories softly grow. Now just echoes, fragments of days gone by, Silent in the shadows, where silent tears lie.   I no longer speak to my sisters, or their kin, The funeral’s break, a quiet chasm within. Few bitter words, just knowing, apart we stand, Paths diverged, like rivers from the sand.   My brothers, dear, remain close to my soul, But I don’t miss the others, their stories untold. Only the first grandchild, kept close and near, A precious bond, forever clear.   To Mum I’d said, "I’m the black sheep," she’d smile, “No,” she’d say, “a pink sheep—your own style.” She understood me better than I knew myself, Her love wrapping round me, like a treasured pelt.   In her arms, I sobbed, a flood of despair, Her gentle hold, a sanctuary rare. And then... the silence, the unspoken ache, A ache I choose not to name or fake.   But in her ...

 Sweet Bitter Memory Her smile, so soft, in that fleeting hour, Chatting with her grandson, a snowstorm’s power, She loved him fiercely, her heart so near, A moment of warmth in winter’s cheer.   I watched her gaze, so gentle, so clear, As love poured out, sincere and sincere. That last embrace, a silent grace, A fleeting touch of time and space.   The next day dawned with shadows deep, A subtle shift, a quiet seep, Into a strange, uncertain decline, A slow surrender, divine and devine.   By Wednesday’s breath, I just knew, Her journey’s end was in view. A bittersweet symphony, a love so vast, Memories etched, shadows cast.   Her presence lingers, tender, sweet, In every heartbeat, in each small greet. A love so deep, so pure, so true— A gift, a loss, both over and anew.   KE Dowling © 2025/12

 Long Shadows Seems so long, the nights we fought, Your illness was the problem, not you, I thought. I watched you slipping, fading away, Infection’s grip, the cause of your disarray. Anger and confusion, born from pain, A silent scream in the darkness’s reign. You whimpered lonely nights, hated the gloom, Waking me from dreams to look at the moon’s bloom.   We saw her climb behind our sentinel tree, A shining globe, a silent family decree. That tree you grew, now no more to see, Like you, it’s gone, lost in memory. Harsh words spoken, not your true voice, The pain you carried, an unbearable choice. Refusing meds, I loved you so deep, Beyond what a daughter’s love should keep. Now I listen, longing for Christmas’s cheer, You left in the season you held so dear. I don’t follow your traditions, I confess, The sun and moon paint my walls with their caress. KE Dowling © 2025/12

I  used to wash and comb your hair, Silver-white locks, so soft, so fair, Thick and beautiful, a gentle grace, A soothing touch, a loving embrace. Your face, a picture of love so deep, In every line, your soul I keep, Hazel eyes, like warm honey’s glow, Reflecting stories only you could show. A smile that lit the darkest room, A light that chased away the gloom, You said my smile would do the same, And in my heart, I hold your name. Sometimes I wish you were here, To hold me close, to wipe my tear, In quiet moments, I still yearn, For your love that will forever burn. KE Dowling © 2025/12

 I remember when you woke in the night, Calling a name I did not know, Your trembling hand in mine, so tight, A silent plea, a whispered woe. You asked me softly, "Where is my Dad?" A question that broke my heart in two, I told you he had gone, so sad, so bad, And watched your world turn dark and blue. The next time, I told a different lie, Said he was on ARP duty’s call, But you saw through my words, I know why, And hated those dark nights most of all. The fairy lights on the shed’s old wall, A fragile hope to chase the gloom, Soldiers walking, shadows tall, Haunted hours in the silent room. Those nights of suffering, endless pain, Your love remains, forever true, In every tear, in every refrain, I love you, and I remember you. KE Dowling © 2025/12

 One More Hour If I sat on Father Christmas' lap, And made a wish, what would I ask? Not gifts or toys, nor shiny wrap, But TIME—just one more hour to catch. I hear the voices, grief-stricken and true, They long for moments they can't renew, "One more hour," they softly plead, To hold their loved ones, to feel their need. But wishes fade in silent air, The seasons turn, and life moves there, So now I guard my silent plea, No more requests, no more decree. Some say let Christmas disappear, End the season, silence the year, But I keep a quiet hope inside, That love and memory will abide. Though time may never grant our cry, We carry them, until we die, And cherish each moment, fleeting and few— A love so deep, forever true.

 Silken Memories I used to wash and comb your hair, Silver-white locks, so soft, so fair, Thick and beautiful, a gentle grace, A soothing touch, a loving embrace. Your face, a picture of love so deep, In every line, your soul I keep, Hazel eyes, like warm honey’s glow, Reflecting stories only you could show. A smile that lit the darkest room, A light that chased away the gloom, You said my smile would do the same, And in my heart, I hold your name. Sometimes I wish you were here, To hold me close, to wipe my tear, In quiet moments, I still yearn, For your love that will forever burn.

 Night time Shadows I remember when you woke in the night, Calling a name I did not know, Your trembling hand in mine, so tight, A silent plea, a whispered woe. You asked me softly, "Where is my Dad?" A question that broke my heart in two, I told you he had gone, so sad, so bad, And watched your world turn dark and blue. The next time, I told a different lie, Said he was on ARP duty’s call, But you saw through my words, I know why, And hated those dark nights most of all. The fairy lights on the shed’s old wall, A fragile hope to chase the gloom, Soldiers walking, shadows tall, Haunted hours in the silent room. Those nights of suffering, endless pain, Your love remains, forever true, In every tear, in every refrain, I love you, and I remember you. KE Dowling © 2025/12

In Silent Tears My heart still aches for you today, No Christmas songs, just shades of gray. The world around feels cold and bare, Without your smile, I’m lost in despair. You said it was her time to go, Accepted it, yet I don’t know How you held back all of your tears, While I sob through endless nights and years. I miss your laughter, warm and bright, Your gentle touch, your guiding light. These days are long, each one a test, Longing for your last breath, I rest. You took my hand, a final grace, In that quiet, sacred space. Now all I have are memories to keep, Echoes of love that I still weep.  KE Dowling © 2025/12

  The reason for the season, they say, and December's magic anew, As a child, Christmas music filled the air, a joy to pursue. Gingerbread tea, gingerbread spray, a glittery, festive spree, Decorating our loving home, with a heart heavy and free. I'll sigh and cry, and weep, I know, more than any year before, The glamour and the glitz will fade, knocking softly at my door. Christmas cards in a drawer will rest, with sympathy's kind embrace, A tradition, like Christmas itself, in time and in space. They forget, sadly and despondently, the true meaning, so profound, Not glamour or glitz, not parties, where loud laughter can be found. Not costly gifts, or trending toys, or chasing what children crave, Not even a tree I cannot trim, a frozen shoulder to save. It's about a child, born long ago, in a stable, in a manger's humble bed, Looking up at his mother, nursed fondly, with a surrogate father instead. It's about the homeless, a warm shelter, the lonely, a smile, ...

  **A Year Without You** Hopes of January, December fades away,   Pain feels lighter, memories still sway.   Your funeral lingers, a shadow so deep,   A quiet ache, in my heart it keeps. February brings a little more pain,   But hope whispers softly, like gentle rain.   Snowdrops bloom, fragile and white,   Crocuses peek, blue heads in sight. March arrives with daffodils dancing,   In the park, their golden glances glancing.   Dandelions on the breeze, drifting free,   Reminding me of you and what used to be. April breaks my heart anew,   Your birthday, missed by me and you.   Three years gone, yet wounds remain,   In my soul, an aching pain. Cherry blossoms bloom, spring’s tender grace,   Your tree spared, a sacred place.   Acer leaves flourish, warmth in the air,   A season of hope, despite despair. May flies by, Easter’s gone,...